


Son of the Dragon

by artoriusrex (jesusonaunicycle)



Series: Gearing Up for Samhain [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Arthur Pendragon Returns, Crack, First Dates, First Kiss, Magical Realism, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Reincarnation, They're all assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4194894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesusonaunicycle/pseuds/artoriusrex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur, a horrifically dedicated student of history, heinously detests that one kid in the back of his classroom that argues with literally every word he says. He hates him, loathes him, wants him to drop off the face of the Earth, and absolutely does not find him charming. Nope. Not at all.</p><p>A tale of history nerds, bad Twilight references, and matchmaking Impalers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Son of the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> I. Want. Halloween.
> 
> And here we have my two favorite assholes, albeit in a slightly different (cracky but also not cracky??) situation. I like it. This is also based off of the mythological creature AU list that has been cycling through tumblr recently. You can guess which one I chose to do.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Also how did this turn into a slight coffee shop fluff thing????? Help my brain pls~~

It shouldn’t have bothered him. In fact, he should’ve been looking forward to it—he loved his Medieval History class. It was small enough so everyone knew each other, but large enough for there to be diverse opinions. The professor, Doctor Jace Gaius—or Gaius as he preferred to be called—encouraged friendly debate and had a tolerance for Arthur’s rambling. He should not be whinging about it to poor Guinevere, who kept glaring at him through the corner of her eye and screwing up her mouth the way she did when she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“But he’s just so _annoying_ ,” Arthur kept saying, unable to get a grip on his tongue. “And _arrogant_. How can he know that Caligula preferred blond servant boys, or how Richard the Lionhearted’s advisors flayed that squire alive after he died? _How_? It makes no sense!”

“Maybe he read material you haven’t, Arthur,” Gwen said reasonably, reaching for her mug on the glass coffee table in front of them. They happened to be in Morgana’s apartment, a white, steel and silver abode that Morgana claimed was fashionable. The damn siren. He bet his water demon of a sister would get on fantastically with his know it all classmate. If she wasn’t dating Gwen already, of course.

“That’s impossible!” Arthur exclaimed, nearly jostling Gwen’s mug of herbal tea out of her hands. He sent her an apologetic look before saying, “I’ve read all of the material for the course, and my father has been beating history into me since I was a kid. I know my shit, Gwen, and this fucking _guy_ —”

“Merlin,” Gwen interjected, a smile twitching about her lips.

“Yeah, fucking _Mer_ lin, gets his panties in a fucking twist whenever I open my mouth! It’s like he wants to piss me off!” Gwen took his pause to breathe as an opportunity to offer him her herbal tea, and Arthur was so rankled that he actually accepted it, and drank out of her mug. It tasted faintly flowery, but mostly he could identify the mint and honey she’d put in it.

As Arthur cradled the still-steaming mug to his chest, Gwen grabbed the white afghan off the back of the sofa and curled up beneath it. “I’m sure he doesn’t intentionally piss you off, sweetie,” she soothed, “though it is kind of funny. Maybe he just read different material than you did. You can’t expect to know everything,” she said, narrowing her eyes when he opened his mouth to protest. “He’s probably just as dedicated to history as you are.”

Arthur’s eye twitched a little at that. _Dedicated_ was a bit of an understatement. After being pronounced a “chronic soul” (basically, reincarnation is real and he’s been so many people his brain literally can’t remember them all), Arthur decided to learn as much as he possibly could about the past. His lovely mother and father (both terribly mundane, despite the fact that both he and his sister were magically altered in some way) sent him gladly off to a university and very rarely remained in contact. He was desperate for a link to his previous selves. He constantly found himself… lacking, almost. Like he was missing an important part of his life. To say he was dedicated to history was like saying the human race was slightly dependent on oxygen.

“Well, he’s a prick,” Arthur muttered petulantly, glowering down at Gwen’s tea. She laughed a little bit and pressed a fond kiss to his temple, and that was the end of that conversation. She made herself her own tea and they settled down to watch TV, curled up beneath the white afghan and waiting patiently for sleep to overcome them.

 

* * *

 

Arthur had his Medieval History class the very next day. Morgana had come home early in the morning (she worked at a  nightclub just off campus, waiting tables and sometimes performing on stage, to lure more customers into the bar), and promptly kicked Arthur out of her apartment with a sharp-toothed grin and a snarl. Arthur knew better than to bait his sister, though. He knew her work at the nightclub was hard. Sirens got a bad reputation because of stereotypes, and that caused a lot of unwanted male attention. He didn’t know how many times he’d decked some guy in the face for being an asshole to Morgana. And he certainly didn’t know how many times Morgana had totally _wrecked_ some guy for the same reason.

In any case, his Medieval History class was a great atmosphere to walk into after getting snarled at by a water demon. Not only was the class one of the earliest slots on campus (bright and early from 3:30 AM to 5:30 AM), it was a small classroom, comfortable in the way high school never was, with yellowed lights and a map of the world covering the entire front wall. Dr. Gaius himself usually stood at the podium at the front of the room and lectured, expecting his students to write down notes. The desks and chairs were arranged in a U-shape, and there were three rows of them. Arthur sat down in the front middle, notebook and pencil already in hand.

The rest of the students trickled in steadily. Arthur was always the first one in class, even not on days when Morgana kicked him out of her apartment. He would watch the flow of students, up until the very last one, which would always make his teeth grind.

_Mer_ lin, the arrogant know-it-all that sat directly behind Arthur always arrived to class last. He’d saunter in with a tiny smirk (half-apologetic, half-smug, like he knew he was almost late but never actually was), black jeans hugging his slim hips and thighs and a band t-shirt tight to his chest. And he always, _always_ , had Aviators over his eyes. Their class was in the dead, dark hours of the morning—it just made no goddamn _sense_.

The bastard would glide through the doors, smirk at Gaius who (always, bless him) would raise his imperious eyebrow that cowed every student into submission. The students loved to joke that Gaius was actually part Gorgon, and his stare could turn you to stone. The frightening part of it was that the professor didn’t even negate the accusation.

Merlin, however, would only smile at Gaius before taking his seat, _right_ behind Arthur. That was annoying on several counts.

  1. The bastard liked to whisper commentary while Gaius was teaching, which distracted Arthur.
  2. He was a mouth-breather.
  3. Once, during a very heated discussion, he’d actually grabbed Arthur’s shoulder, so he was within strangling range.
  4. He jiggled his leg. Loudly. With purpose.



So Arthur endured a very long, very arduous lecture on one particular Vlad the Impaler. Vlad, like many strange men before him, had a rather disconcerting fascination with torture. Gaius went on to explain it might have been because of his terrible childhood; the Turks were not loving caregivers to defiant Romanian boys, after all. Vlad escaped from the Ottomans and held over Wallachia from 1456 to 1473. His name was renowned in all of the now-Romanian state; the Impaler, one who had a garden of heads, Dracula, son of Dracul. Warlord, prince and, as one should have it, a blood-drinker.

Once Gaius’ lecture was over, Arthur was unsurprised to see a healthy amount of hands raised. Gaius deliberated for a moment, before he said, “Sefa, do you have anything to say?”

Arthur turned to see Sefa, a mousy-haired girl with an equally mousy disposition, smiling shyly from her desk to Arthur’s right. She was pallid, though very pretty, with expressive blue eyes that sparkled when she laughed. Arthur thought she would be a sweet girl, and she was—but she had a love for bloody, violent history.

“Is Vlad the Impaler the first recorded vampire, Professor?” Sefa asked, straight to the point. Arthur saw Gaius sigh, as if he’d heard this question a thousand times. Arthur was pretty sure he had.

“Though we have been told Vlad Dracula drank the blood of his enemies, historians don’t exactly know whether or not he was a vampire,” Gaius addressed the room at large, looking slightly put-upon.

“But didn’t they try to find him where he was buried in the Comana monastery, and just found the bones of horses?” called Elyan, Gwen’s brother. He had an excused absence every month on the full moon, due to his Lunar Cycle. “If he was a vampire, couldn’t he have pretended to be dead and then risen?”

The class all murmured to themselves excitedly. Everyone knew that vampires, if they looked after themselves properly, could live for centuries. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Vlad Dracula was decapitated,” Arthur couldn’t help but say, exasperated. “Even if he was a vampire, he wouldn’t be walking around to this day, and he certainly wouldn’t have risen from the grave.” He turned and tossed daggers at Elyan, who grinned sheepishly at him from the other end of the room. The class still murmured to themselves, but were much quieter, and Arthur was about to congratulate himself on a job well done when—

“He wasn’t decapitated.”

Oh, God. That voice. How he _loathed_ that voice.

The class went silent.

Arthur grit his teeth.

“All of the historians say that Vlad died in battle, and was decapitated,” Arthur said through a clenched jaw. Merlin, however, wasn’t deterred.

“Yes, but all of the historians have different theories about how he died anyway,” he said, his voice cheerful and pointed and _fucking infuriating. “_ Some say he was killed fighting the Turks, others say he was killed by his own men—”

“Regardless,” Arthur interjected loudly, “Antonio Bonfini wrote that his head was removed—”

“Allegedly.”

“—as a trophy and sent to Istanbul—”

“Constantinople.”

“ _Istanbul,”_ Arthur snapped, hackles rising when he heard the class snicker, “and displayed as proof of his death. On a spike. To send a message.”

“Because placing heads on spikes is such an effective message to people almost six hundred miles away,” Merlin said, obviously grinning.

Arthur’s clenched his hands so tightly that the pencil in his hand snapped in two. He whipped around in his seat, glaring at a startled looking Merlin, his eyes uncovered by mirrored Aviators (for once) and Arthur now could see that they were wide, and blue, and slightly scared.

“And how would you know?” Arthur snarled, pent-up aggression flushing his face crimson. “How exactly would you know that Vlad the Impaler wasn’t decapitated, and had his head on a spike somewhere in fucking Constantinople?”

“Mister Pendragon,” came Gaius’ voice, but Arthur wasn’t paying any attention, too busy making truly terrifying eye contact with the bane of his very existence.

Merlin was scowling at him, dark brows knocking together. “How are you so sure that he was?” he hissed, almost getting into Arthur’s face, a sweet-smelling cologne filling his nostrils.

“How are you so sure that he _wasn’t_?” Arthur tossed back, leaning toward him, ignoring Gaius’ raised, “ _Gentlemen_!”

“Because I was there!” Merlin cried, gripping the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles went white. Which was a feat, because Merlin’s skin was literally bone-white, unblemished. And that’s when it started to fall into place for Arthur.

Merlin’s skin was so white he looked like he could be lost in the Siberian wilderness. He’d never touched him, but he was certain he’d be ice cold. He didn’t pant for breath when he yelled, and there was no red stain of blood beneath his skin as he got angry. He wore sunglasses all the damn time. He had almost all of his classes at night or ass o’clock in the morning. And he knew all sorts of historical things that Arthur thought only he could know, what with his chronic soul or whatever.

“ _Oh_ ,” Arthur said, in a grand show of intelligence. All of his anger had been drained from him with this new discovery. Merlin blinked at him, surprised, but he didn’t move from Arthur’s personal space. He did, however, uncurl his hands from the edge of his desk, which was now warped beyond repair.

“If you gentlemen are quite finished,” Gaius said, pointed and yet still remarkably put-upon, “I have a class to conclude.”

Arthur immediately spun back to rights, blushing a little as he made eye contact with Gaius. His bushy white eyebrow nearly reached his hairline. Arthur squirmed a little in his seat and cleared his throat before saying, “I apologize, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Gaius huffed but acquiesced, looking a little skeptical, but he continued to outline the assignment for that week anyway. But before Arthur could really understand what Gaius was saying, he thought he heard Merlin’s voice, just barely above a whisper, “Not if I can help it.”

  

* * *

  

Surprisingly, the next time he saw Merlin he was out and about in daylight, the sun just high enough to leave a stain of pink and orange on the horizon. Albion U was a largely outdoors campus, almost like a little city with its sheer size. Arthur was just running in for coffee when he was spotted. Gwen and Morgana had invited him over to their apartment to watch the original _Dracula_  as a joke, and asked him to get them lattes. He hated them both. Secretly. Very secretly.

When Arthur heard his name, he almost thought he was hallucinating. Gaius’ paper on Vlad the Impaler had him up most of the night—not with studying, but with horrific nightmares. The doctors called them memory fragments. Unlike memory compositions, fragments were pieces of his past lives remembered and displayed in his sleep-state. Unfortunately, a lot of these memory fragments were traumatic—hence, nightmares. Apparently, one of his past lives had died a horrible, violent death by stabbing. He could vaguely remember the tint of green eyes...

“Arthur!” someone called his name again, and Arthur jolted to see Merlin, Aviators, skinny jeans and black leather jacket donned. He hadn’t seen Merlin since that past Monday, and he was shocked to see him around—especially in daylight.

“Um, hey,” Arthur greeted haltingly, unsure how to interpret the blinding grin he got from Merlin in reply. “What are—What are you doing out here?” he asked. He kicked himself for such a veiled question, unable to stop his blush, though he valiantly pretended he wasn’t.

Merlin didn’t seem to take offense. If anything, his smile deepened and dimples appeared charmingly. _Wait, charmingly?_ “When you’re like me, you aren’t as sensitive to light. Something to do with the disease losing potency, I’m not really sure,” he said, as if discussing vampiric traits was just a normal day at Albion U.

Arthur shook himself a little, blinking hard as if to dispel sleepiness. “So you were born a vampire?” he asked, feeling a bit out of his depth. He was also a little excited; Merlin had been around for _centuries._ Maybe he’d come across one of Arthur’s incarnations.

“Maybe,” Merlin drew out the word, still amused. He assessed Arthur up and down (Arthur had a vague feeling he was being analyzed) and then gestured toward the café he had been about to go into. “Want to get a coffee? I could tell you all about the inner-workings of vampirism, if you’d like,” he offered, again with a charming smile.

_This is a bad idea,_ Arthur thought in a voice that sounded suspiciously like his sister. He and Merlin had a very strong classroom rivalry, and hadn’t attempted to even bridge that gap by pursuing friendship. But he felt somewhat drawn to Merlin. He wanted to accept.

“Sure,” he found himself saying, his smile no more than a grimace. Above his Aviators, Merlin’s brows knitted briefly, but as Arthur walked into the little café, Merlin followed close behind.

After they’d ordered (the barista seemed startled that he and Merlin were buying coffee together, but that might have something to do with the fact their mutual hatred for each other was legendary), Merlin picked a table at the farthest end of the café, half-hidden in darkness. When Arthur quirked an eyebrow at him about this, Merlin just shrugged a little sheepishly and said, “It’s a habit.”

“Make a habit of hiding in shadows?” Arthur blurted, and then immediately winced.

“Sometimes,” Merlin said without missing a beat. He sat at the shadowy part of the table and grinned at Arthur, teeth showing. “You never know who’s still after you, you know?”

Arthur stared. Merlin was already at ease, slipping the mirrored sunglasses off his face and pushing them up into his dark hair. His posture was relaxed, his smile carefree; but Arthur could feel the tension in the small space they occupied.

“Why did you find me?” Arthur asked, sitting ram-rod straight. He didn’t feel threatened, just very uncomfortable.

Merlin quirked a brow at him, taking a sip of the drink he’d ordered. Coconut water, or something. “Why do you think I came out here to find you?” he asked after he put his cup down. His blue eyes were piercing.

Irritation swept through Arthur like a wave. “Why do you never answer things directly?” he snapped, but Merlin just shrugged, amusement clear on his face. Arthur tried very hard not to throttle the man. “I know you came to find me because people like you don’t just happen to wander out into the sunlight.” His voice dropped to a whisper at the end of his sentence, unable to help himself.

Finally, there was something more than smug satisfaction on Merlin’s face. Arthur reveled in the thought that he was the only one who could put anger on the impassive Merlin Emerson’s face. “People like me?” Merlin parroted, his brows doing an impressive imitation of Gaius’. “You mean people who don’t fit the cookie-cutter mold of mundane society? The kind that are persecuted against every day of their existence? Those kinds of people?”

Arthur hissed as Merlin’s voice got louder and louder with every question. “No, you twat! I meant vampires.” Merlin frowned at him, but he was blessedly silent. Arthur rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know how you’d react to the term, jackass. And the only other term I know to use is slightly unconventional, and bloodsucker is just a slur.”

Merlin, for his part, looked a little chagrined. Still, he did glare at Arthur when he asked, “How do you know all of this stuff?”

It was Arthur’s turn to stare at Merlin incredulously. “You’re joking, right?” When Merlin just looked confused, Arthur laughed, throwing back his head.

“I don’t know if it’s escaped your attention, _Mer_ lin, but we happen to be going to the largest, most prestigious all-inclusive university in the world. If I didn’t know anything about vampirism, I’d be fucked,” he said, then gathered his wits, not expecting himself to get so loud. Thankfully his back was to the rest of the café; he wasn’t interested in seeing if they’d attracted any attention.

Merlin was still glaring at him, though. “That’s all well and good, but that doesn’t mean you had to go and say something as blatantly offensive as that. _People like me_ , are you serious? I’d rather you have taken your chances with your unconventional term,” he snorted, taking an angry sip of his coconut water.

Arthur winced. “Yeah, that… that wasn’t very tactful of me, was it?” Merlin just snorted again, tapping something out on his phone and not looking at Arthur. “Fuck. Look, I’m… I’m sorry,” he felt like the words were ripped out of his throat. Merlin’s head jerked up in surprise. “It was wrong of me to say,” Arthur plowed on, wincing a little as he did so, “and I sincerely apologize. I—”

“Alright, don’t hurt yourself,” Merlin interrupted, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth. He was gazing at Arthur almost fondly, shaking his head. “You’re something else, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur found himself blushing for no reason. He ducked his head, clearing his throat a few times before he answered. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

“No you haven’t,” Merlin said, much to Arthur’s surprise. When Arthur finally looked at him, though, he just smirked. “Vampire, remember? Your heart skips when you lie.”

Subconsciously, Arthur rubbed a hand over his heart. He laughed a little breathlessly. “That must come in handy.”

“Most definitely,” Merlin grinned, eyeing him with sudden interest. “Especially on dates.” He licked his lips, leaving a wet sheen on them. Arthur hoped he didn’t hear his heart rate pick up.

Uncomfortable with being at a disadvantage, Arthur squirmed in his seat and sat up straight. “Well, good thing this isn’t a date, then,” he said, and when Merlin’s lips quirked just a little higher, he pretended he didn’t notice. “You said you could answer a few of my questions, right?” he asked, prepared to get down to business.

Merlin’s mouth twitched but he nodded anyway, leaning back in his chair and stretching out. “Hit me, Pendragon,” he invited, that smug smirk back on his face. Arthur seriously contemplated taking him up on that offer.

“Right.” Arthur shifted, making himself hold eye contact with Merlin. “Just how old are you, then?”

“I stopped celebrating at around five hundred, but if I had to take a gander at exact age I’d have to say… One thousand, four hundred and forty sounds good,” Merlin drawled, picking at his straw. Arthur goggled at him.

“One _thousand_?” Arthur breathed, wide-eyed.

“I know,” Merlin’s nose scrunched up in disgust. “Horrible, isn’t it? I’m having a mid-eternity crisis at the mo; figured I’d go back to school.” The vampire shrugged nonchalantly. “Albion isn’t so bad. Love the name.”

“You’re _one thousand_ years old?” Arthur repeated, excitement welling in his veins. The amount of history Merlin had seen, the sheer _vastness_ of it; Merlin could tell them so much. He could tell Arthur _so much_.

“Yes,” Merlin said, drawing out the word. He gave Arthur an analytical once-over. “Why? That turn you on, Pendragon?” he leered, his eyes lingering over Arthur’s chest.

Arthur cleared his throat and adjusted his collar, pretending not to notice Merlin’s amused smirk or the way his eyes glinted with amusement. “No, you idiot,” he said, speaking over Merlin as he opened his mouth, “I just think it’s fascinating. The amount of things you’ve probably seen…” he said, not even bothering to scoot backward when Merlin started to lean toward him.

“So now you think I’m fascinating? I’m flattered.” Merlin purred, batting his eyelashes.

“Of course I do!” Arthur exclaimed. Merlin blinked in surprise; pleasure curled his lips when Arthur realized what he’d said and started stammering. “In a historical sense. Purely in a historical sense. While you’re very attractive, a-and therefore intriguing—” Merlin raised a brow at this, smirk ever-growing, “—your history fascinates me. Which makes you fascinating. Wh-What I’m trying to say is—”

“Arthur,” Merlin cut off his rambling, his voice colored with laughter, “calm down. I never knew just how much of a history nut you are,” he said, that fond look in his eye. Arthur found himself blushing again.

“That’s pretty stupid of you. We’ve been having arguments in Medieval History every Monday for almost an entire semester,” Arthur said, but Merlin was already shaking his head.

“Yeah, I knew you were dedicated to the class, but I didn’t know just how excited you got about it,” Merlin explained, his smile a little less smug and more genuine. “I figured you were like that in all of your classes. I guess I was wrong.”

Arthur blinked at the guy who sat in front of him. Merlin was gazing at him with fondness, the type of affection that Arthur only saw from Gwen, and maybe Morgana when she was drunk enough. It was… different. Not strange, though he supposed it could be, but nice. Nice and different. He really didn’t know what to say to Merlin, though, so he ducked his head and took a hasty sip of his coffee, unable to maintain eye contact. He thought he heard Merlin chuckle.

“Well,” Merlin said after a few moments of silence, “now that you know how horrifyingly old I am, it’s my turn. What brings golden boy Arthur Pendragon to Albion University?” he asked, propping his chin on his hand. He grinned at Arthur when he looked up, revealing two slightly elongated canines. Arthur was surprised he hadn’t noticed them before.

“Um, it kind of ties into my obsession with history,” Arthur said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. It was difficult to talk to relative strangers about his chronic soul, because many of them didn’t know what it was. Most of them treated it like it was a condition. But Arthur hated the term _reincarnation,_ because he was a slightly different person every time, or at least that’s what it seemed like.

“Oh, fantastic, I love a good origin story.” Merlin squirmed closer, eyes wide and expectant. A laugh was wrestled out of Arthur, and he’d made up his mind before he even realized it.

“Have you ever heard of something called a chronic soul?” Arthur started, watching Merlin’s eyebrows knock together.

“A chronic soul. Like, reincarnation?” he asked, and Arthur started nodding enthusiastically.

“Yeah, kind of. But I’m a slightly different person every incarnation. I think,” he frowned, thinking of all his past lives. “I don’t remember a lot of the details, but I remember some things, like how I died. And there are constants.”

“Constants?” Merlin started to sit up, looking troubled. Arthur couldn’t help noticing, and he felt a bit self-conscious as he continued.

“Uh, yeah. People that I meet every incarnation. My sister is one of them, and my friend Gwen,” Arthur said, noting with interest that Merlin’s eyes seemed cloudy when he mentioned the name. “She’s not always my friend, and sometimes we date or even get married, but most of the time we’re just friendly with each other.”

Merlin frowned thoughtfully. For the first time that evening, he looked actually uncomfortable; his leather jacket squeaked against the back of his chair as he shifted. “Are you two, uh… together? This time?” he asked, not meeting Arthur’s gaze.

Arthur’s smile was unbidden. He scoffed, feeling a little giddy as he said, “Hell, no. My sister would kill me. They’re in a very long-term relationship, you see,” he said, grinning when Merlin’s head snapped up. “I’d be very disappointed in you if you tried to break them up.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Merlin grinned. “How about you, Pendragon? Any long-term relationships I shouldn’t try and break up?”

“No,” Arthur said, a tiny thrill going through him as he managed to keep looking Merlin in the eye. “No, I’m very much available.”

“Fantastic,” Merlin’s grin was sharp and intriguing, but before either of them could say anything else, Arthur’s phone vibrated loudly.

“Sorry,” he apologized, but looked down at his phone anyway to see a few text messages from Gwen.

 

 

> **Gwen:** Where r u??????
> 
> **Gwen:** I demand that latte
> 
> **Gwen:** Ur sister is killing me here Arthur
> 
> **Gwen:** Arthurrrrrrr
> 
> **Gwen:** If you’re not back here in five minutes, I’m going after you - Morgana ;*

“ _Fuck_.”

“What?” Merlin actually sounded concerned. His brows were knit and he was already halfway out of his chair when Arthur turned away from his text message. At Arthur questioning look, Merlin’s frown deepened. “Your heart rate just doubled. So either that was really exciting, or really scary,” he clarified, and Arthur couldn’t stop his snort even as he got ready to go.

“It’s terrifying.” Arthur scrambled up and just barely managed to not knock over his coffee. “My sister just texted me. She said if I’m not home in five minutes, she’s going looking for me,” he explained, and Merlin’s shoulders suddenly sagged, as if he’d tensed up for battle.

“I’ll walk you,” Merlin offered, blue eyes round and sincere in his face. Arthur glanced out the window to check on the placement of the sun and—was surprised to see that it had already gone down.

“Oh, you know you don’t have to—” he started, but Merlin waved at him dismissively.

“Don’t even try to stop me, Arthur. I was the one who made you stay out so late, anyway. And it’s proper etiquette to walk your date home.”

Arthur paused. “Date?” he asked, gruffly, in a manly tone, not at all a squeak. He cleared his throat but the damage was already done; Merlin was smirking at him and put an urging hand on the small of Arthur’s back.

“Did you think this was anything else?” Merlin asked innocently, but Arthur could see through it. He scowled at Merlin (who was an inch taller than him, how _annoying_ ) but nonetheless let him guide them to the door and into the night.

For an all-inclusive campus (see: a magical/mythical population friendly), Albion was pretty much dead during the night hours. Clubs and bars had the usual midnight crowd, but otherwise the streets were barren. Merlin and Arthur didn’t encounter any other person on their way to Morgana and Gwen’s apartment building.

The building was brick, old-fashioned and scary-looking. There was a lone streetlight out in front, which lit up the squat stairs to the entrance. “This is me,” Arthur said, breaking the silence. They’d walked quietly the entire way, but he hadn’t felt uncomfortable. Merlin’s presence actually felt warm, like he didn’t have to talk to fill the silence. It was another different but nice thing about him.

Merlin was smiling at him, hands in his pockets. He didn’t say anything. Arthur started to fidget nervously. “I’ll see you Monday, yeah?” 

At that, Merlin’s smile became something sharper. “If not before then,” he said, stepping into Arthur’s personal space. Arthur’s heart started to race, but Merlin didn’t look threatening; he was just very, very near.

“Gonna make a habit of stalking me places?” Arthur swallowed around his nerves. “Start watching me while I sleep? Do you sparkle in sunlight too, Mister The-Stars-Shine-Upon-Our-Meeting?”

Merlin rolled his eyes and stepped ever closer. Arthur felt his breath ghost over his face. “You’re much prettier than Bella, in my opinion,” he said, one hand gently gripping Arthur’s hip. Arthur’s breath caught.

“I don’t know, Kristen Stewart is really beautiful,” he mumbled, not quite sure what he was saying at this point and going kind of cross-eyed because Merlin was so close.

Merlin huffed out a laugh. “She’s not really my type, honestly.”

“Then what is your type?” Arthur blurted, gasping a little when their foreheads knocked together and Merlin’s arm came up to wind around his waist. Arthur’s own hands went to Merlin’s shoulders. For balance. Purely for balance.

Merlin laughed again, sharp-edged. “If you can’t tell, you may be even more thick-headed than I thought,” he said, and Arthur scowled irritatedly, about to snap at him when Merlin cut him off. “I like entitled, arrogant prats with blond hair,” he said, brushing his nose against Arthur’s. His voice was amused when he asked, “Haven’t you read any of the legends?”

Affronted, Arthur glared at the vampire. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know I’ve read most, if not all of the lore concerning—”

Arthur didn’t have time to finish his sentence. Merlin had already descended, pressing his lips to Arthur’s and doing a wonderful job of making Arthur forget what he was saying. Merlin kissed like it was life or death; deep, staggering and take-no-prisoners, but pleasant all the same. He tasted sweet, sticky; like coconut. Arthur was just relaxing into it, into the push and pull of it, his fingers playing in the hair at Merlin’s nape when Merlin pulled back, not even breathing hard.

They shared each other’s space for a while, breathing each other in and pressing quick, nipping little kisses that made them both laugh breathlessly. 

“You were saying?” Merlin prompted, grinning and Arthur just had to roll his eyes.

“You know I don’t remember, you twat,” he mumbled, and Merlin laughed, genuine this time, eyes crinkling and everything. Arthur thought he was just a little bit in love.

“Too bad, I wanted to hear the rest of that sentence. You always get high and mighty when you talk about history, kind of like—”

“Arthur? Is that you down there?”

They jumped apart at the sound of Gwen’s voice. Arthur blushed fifty shades of red as he looked up, seeing his best friend leaning out of her apartment window, grinning down at them. “Is that Merlin with you?”

“Hi, Gwen!” Merlin called. Arthur was still too embarrassed to say anything, mouth gaping open like a fish. He heard Gwen squeal and shortly after hear his sister’s heinous cackling.

Morgana stuck her head out the window next to her girlfriend, grinning shark-like down at them. Arthur could see her imperious look from here. He would be hearing about this for the next year. “I knew it!” she screeched. “Leon owes me twenty bucks!”

“Leon?” Arthur repeated in no more than a whisper, hopelessly lost. Merlin must have gestured something to the girls because Gwen suddenly looked very guilty and tugged her girlfriend back inside, shutting the window with a slam.

Arthur turned back to Merlin, who was looking a little guilty himself. “I can explain.”

“Please do.” Arthur said, crossing his arms. He didn’t want to be angry with Merlin—especially not after such a nice kiss, they should definitely do that again—but if Morgana knew about this, and had a wager with _Leon_ , he could bet that at least half the campus knew about it by now. Which meant that nothing was sacred, and he’d really hoped his private life would stay that way. It was one of the things he’d been told was apart of his chronic soul.

Merlin winced and rocked back on his heels. “Alright, so I was… interested in you before tonight,” he confessed. Arthur frowned. Didn’t Merlin hate him before tonight? Well, maybe not hate but something close to it? They weren’t particularly friendly with each other outside of class and didn’t try to bridge any gap that the rivalry made between them. It didn’t make any sense.

“You have a shit way of showing it,” is what he said instead, which, wow, that sounded bitchy. Merlin flinched, but then he just got angry back at him.

“Well, if you weren’t such a prat, then maybe a guy could get in to express a little interest!”

Arthur scoffed. “I’m the prat? I’m not the one that participated in a bet with my sister to get me to kiss you!” Okay, that was a bit far-fetched, but Arthur felt a bit slighted at the moment. He wished his sister hadn’t opened her big mouth.

“ _What_?” Merlin shouted, eyes wide and incredulous. “You can’t be serious, Arthur!”

Arthur said nothing, he just shook his head. He turned toward the door to go inside, done with the conversation, but Merlin’s hand shot out and grabbed him by his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” he snapped, pushing Merlin’s arm off, but Merlin was back in his face, sincere and confused and still a little bit angry.

“Listen to me, please. I didn’t do this because of some stupid bet. I’ve… I’ve liked you for a long time,” Merlin chuckled mirthlessly. “A long while, actually. And I’ve never had the opportunity to say anything about it. Hell, I’m not even supposed to be in Medieval History.”

“You’re not?” Arthur asked, shocked.

“No! Don’t you think it’s weird I don’t have any other classes with you? Arthur, I’m not even a history major,” Merlin said, a self-deprecating laugh falling from his lips. “I’m a damn med student. Why would I need Medieval History?”

“You’re also a thousand years old, Merlin,” Arthur pointed out, but Merlin just shook his head.

“That’s beside the point. The point is, I _like_ you,” he ducked his head a little bit to meet Arthur’s eyes, “and I’ve been complaining about it. Loudly. To anyone who would listen for more than two seconds. And I would really like to go on a second date with you.” Merlin bit his lip, looking nothing like the cocksure guy who’d flirted with him at the café just half an hour before.

Arthur’s mind was reeling. “So. You’ve taken a history class, something you don’t even need, to argue with me in front of at least fifteen people, because… you _like_  me?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Merlin cringed, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“That’s… stupid.”

Merlin huffed out a laugh and took a step back from him. “Right,” he said hollowly, “well, then. I’ll just, go—”

Arthur’s hand shot out and grabbed the front of Merlin’s shirt before he realized what he’d done. Merlin’s eyes were wide in his face, despite the fact that he could probably break Arthur’s wrist in a millisecond (thank you, vampiric strength). When Arthur failed to say anything, his eyebrow climbed toward his hairline and Jesus, he really needed to stop mimicking Gaius, it was creeping him out.

Arthur cleared his throat. Once. Twice. “I wasn’t finished.”

“No,” Merlin drawled, “I couldn’t tell.”

Arthur scowled and punched Merlin’s shoulder, and the vampire stared at him incredulously before Arthur bit out, “I fucking like you too, even though I don’t know why, because you’re such a _dick_.”

The smile that bloomed on Merlin’s face was incredible. _I’m so fucked,_ he thought, but he didn’t have time to think of much else because there Merlin was again, stealing away his thoughts and replacing them with only,  _he’s a really good kisser._

This kiss was substantially longer. Arthur didn’t know how long they stood there, Arthur’s hands at Merlin’s waist and Merlin’s fingers in his hair. It was spine-numbing, a good kind of melty that stole Arthur’s breath and made his mind buzz pleasantly. Merlin must have thought so too; when Arthur’s mouth opened for his tongue, he made tiny noises in the back of his throat, his fingers curling and uncurling in Arthur’s hair.

“So,” Merlin murmured, sounding out of breath and _fuck yeah, that’s awesome_. “Do I get that second date?” he asked, one of his hands cupping Arthur’s jaw. His smile was charming and his eyes were glimmering with mirth and he was just so nice and different and Arthur was just so _fucked_.

“You’re an idiot,” Arthur said, but it lacked heat and Merlin knew it, the bastard. He just grinned all dope-like and dimply and Arthur had to kiss him again, one last time, before he stepped toward the front door.

“I’ll pick you up here, Saturday at eight,” Merlin called, and Arthur grinned at him as he opened the door to the apartment building. 

“You’d better.”

Merlin laughed at him as he closed the door, grinning like he was simple and being generally adorable, infuriating though it was. And he didn’t have to know it, but Arthur was smiling pretty dopily himself as he jogged up the stairs.

As it was, he couldn’t get the smile off his face in time to see Morgana, who threw open the door before he could even knock. She looked like she’d just settled down for the night; pink pajama pants, a ratty old band t-shirt that they’d gotten together, her hair braided and her face devoid of makeup. Arthur rarely saw Morgana without makeup anymore, and seeing her face bare made him remember simpler times, when she didn’t realize she was a siren and Arthur was just Arthur, no lives attached.

She was smirking at him, green eyes pinned to the blush on his cheeks. “You, Arthur Pendragon, are _fucked_ ,” she said brightly, and Arthur groaned.

“Let me in, she-demon,” he groused, pushing Morgana into the apartment as she cackled.

Gwen was waiting for him when he came in, nearly biting through her lip in excitement. She was similarly dressed for sleep; Arthur had a feeling that he’d be crashing on their sofa that night.

“So?” Gwen prompted, eyes bright. “Are you guys going on a second date?”

“They’d better,” Morgana huffed, plopping down on the sofa and fiddling with a remote. “I bet too much money on them pulling their heads out of their asses.” She paused, blinked, and then snorted at her own joke. Arthur wanted to rip out his eyes.

“Yes, we are going on a second date, thank you very much,” he relented, unable to prevent his smile when Gwen launched herself at him to envelope him in a hug.

“Oh, Arthur! That’s brilliant!” Gwen beamed, dragging him over to the sofa to sit practically in her lap, urging him to tell her everything.

Arthur, because he could never tell Guinevere no, spilled every detail to her and his sister. Morgana mostly rolled her eyes, but she was smiling the entire time. Gwen was practically shining she was so happy for him. In the end, Morgana finally got the two of them quiet (or as quiet as they could ever be), and loaded up a movie.

When the beginning scene of the 1931 _Dracula_ appeared on screen, Arthur buried his face in a pillow and groaned.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Because Morgana is a gr9 older sister, Gwen is a ball of sunshine and those two boys are the biggest assholes on this planet.
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated!
> 
> My tumblr is here: [x](http://jesus-on-a-unicycle.tumblr.com)  
> My twitter is here: [x](http://twitter.com/jesus_on_a_bike)
> 
> Also, the history nerd in me really wants you guys to read up on Vlad Dracula!! Please do, he's really awesome, just Google his name or go on his Wikipedia page and then look at some of the sources; they're the BOMB.


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